


You're a Light on in the Dark

by gwenweybourne



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: 1950s, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Hawkeye is emo, Korean War, M/M, Oral Sex, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trapper is repressed, piercintyre - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26038516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenweybourne/pseuds/gwenweybourne
Summary: Trapper likes to "take care" of Hawkeye in the night when his bunkie is struggling to sleep, but doesn't want the favor returned. Until one day when Hawkeye has had enough ... enough of death and despair and he just wants something more.
Relationships: "Trapper" John McIntyre/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 11
Kudos: 73





	You're a Light on in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Oh golly, this is my first attempt at M*A*S*H fic, so please be gentle! I'm doing a proper watch of the entire series for the first time (apart from just seeing random re-runs over the years) and while I'm usually more of a Hunnihawk fan, I have been beguiled by Trapper John and will be sad to see him go. Anyway, this started just as a little scene in my head and developed into a little story.
> 
> I had no idea what to call this fic, but I found myself listening to Darlingside's "You're a Light on in the Dark" on repeat while I finished writing this and it seemed to work.

“Trap …” Hawkeye sighed, making a feeble attempt to bat Trapper’s hand away. “We can’t … not here …”

“Whaddya mean, ‘we can’t’?” Trapper scoffed. “Just givin’ you a hand, is all. Like I done before.”

But it wasn’t like before. _Before_ was in the Swamp, on the nights when Hawkeye and Trapper were certain that Frank would be in Margaret’s tent and sneaking back home at sunrise. When Trapper — hearing Hawkeye toss and turn restlessly after a particularly trying day, or, worse, wake gasping from a nightmare — would wordlessly slide up behind Hawkeye on his narrow cot and slip a hand into his shorts. “Shhhhh … just givin’ you a hand, pal. It’ll make you feel better, and help you sleep. Lemme help you … c’mon … you need it …”

And Hawkeye did need it. Often it was just the release he needed to lull him to sleep. But it wasn’t just the strong, masculine hand on his erection, stroking him so perfectly it was as if Trapper had somehow absorbed Hawkeye’s masturbation technique (leading him to wonder, not for the first time, where he ended and Trapper began. They lived in each other’s pockets and were rarely apart for any measure of time beyond visits to the latrine, showers, and playtime with nurses), but Trapper’s solid warmth pressed up behind him. His breath hot on Hawkeye’s neck. _Just kiss me there, Trap … just once … I could die happy if you’d just kiss my neck … well, maybe not_ happy _, but extremely and deeply delighted_. _Maybe even thrilled._ He wanted more.

 _I need more than “a hand,”_ Hawkeye thought through the haze of his arousal. _Not everything. I’m not a greedy man. Just … more. And sometimes I think having nothing at all might sting less than this._

But that was his heart, and Trapper wasn’t trying to fondle his heart. Hawkeye let his hand fall away, once again succumbing to Trapper’s strong, surgeon hands stroking his cock just right, his naked, wet body pressed up again Hawkeye’s back.

Hawkeye knew why it was the showers this time. The summer heat and humidity had progressed from oppressive into downright fascist. Moving, or even thinking about moving, caused them to break a sweat. In the OR, the nurses spent more time mopping the doctors’ dripping brows than handing them instruments. Their hands stewed inside their gloves. They could never hydrate enough, and the stream of martinis at the end of each shift certainly was not helping, but if Hawkeye didn’t have that reprieve to look forward to, he figured he was better off immolating himself and beating Korea to the punch.

Today, Hawkeye lost a patient, a kid he’d labored over in surgery and had lived up to his nickname in watching over him in post-op. Only to lose him to a raging post-op fever that refused to be defeated in the summer heat. Trapper had seen the look in Hawk’s eyes enough times and knew he was about to lose it.

“C’mon, you,” he’d muttered, taking the shaking Hawkeye by the arm. “Let’s hit the showers. C’mon, Hawk …”

And for once the lack of hot water in the showers was a blessing. They’d drenched their overheated bodies again and again and wished they never had to stop.

But then Trapper had opened the partition between the two shower stalls and entered Hawkeye’s space. And the coldest shower in the world couldn’t have doused Hawkeye’s reaction. They’d never been naked together before. Not like this. Never like this.

It was dangerous like this.

Hawkeye made one final attempt to resist. “Trap … this is crazy … anyone could walk in …”

“No, they won’t,” Trapper murmured into his ear. “Klinger’s keepin’ watch. I bribed him with a lacy handkerchief. He’ll knock if he can’t fend them off. He thinks we’re tryin’ to talk privately. Which we are … but there’s too much talkin’ … now shut up and let me take care of you. You need it, Hawk … you need it so bad …”

“I need you to file a question away for later,” Hawkeye sighed, leaning back against Trapper’s strong, solid build.

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Where you’d get a lacy handkerchief?”

“Aww, shut up,” Trapper scolded affectionately, and then … then … Hawkeye was barely able to hold back a gasp as Trapper kissed his neck, the tip of his tongue lapping up the water droplets there.

“Trap …” he moaned, hips thrusting helplessly into the stroking hand.

“Quiet,” Trapper muttered.

Trapper never wanted the favor returned. Hawkeye had offered a few times since his bunkie had started “helping him out,” and he always declined. “Naw, I’m all right, Hawk. I don’t … need that.”

Hawk mentally heard “want” in place of “need,” and the unspoken “from you” at the end. _I don’t want that from you._ But every single time, Hawkeye felt Trapper’s cock grow hard against his ass. Sometimes Trapper unconsciously rubbing up against him … just enough for him to believe it was unconscious. One time, when Hawkeye hadn’t fallen back asleep very quickly, but gave every impression of having drifted off, he heard Trapper quietly jerking off in his cot, betrayed only by the sound of his rapid breathing.

_But if I want it from you … what does that make me?_

A question to which Hawkeye already knew the answer. It was unknown if Trapper had fully figured out or not that Hawkeye enjoyed the company of both sexes. Though Hawkeye was inclined to think that Trapper was still in the dark. Subscribing to some old notion of army-buddy code. “Helping” your brothers-in-arms out when there were no women available.

 _But we have women available. Plenty of women. And often very available_ , he’d thought. If none of the nurses were interested, there were always the business girls in the neighboring village. But there was something to be said to get one’s jollies without having to flirt and wine and dine and bargain and reassure and sometimes just downright beg. Sometimes it was nice to just get right to the main event.

_But sometimes I wish there was a little more lead-up. A newsreel, maybe a cartoon show._

All of these thoughts raced through Hawkeye’s mind even as he melted back against Trapper. He was good at multitasking like that.

“That’s it, Hawk,” Trapper murmured in his ear. “It’s so good … you gonna come for me … I know you’re close … c’mon … give it up …”

He was close. He both loved and hated that Trapper knew when he was on the cusp. And how much he liked it when he was directed to orgasm. He let out a gasping breath and shuddered as he came, vaguely grateful for once that he wasn’t messing up another pair of shorts.

“There ya go,” Trapper said quietly, releasing Hawkeye’s cock and patting him on the shoulder. “Feel better?” He stepped back and pulled on the shower chain to rinse off.

_It feels terrific until it’s over and you act like you just clipped a hangnail for me._

Hawkeye turned around slowly, fixing his eyes on Trapper’s erection.

“I think _you_ need a hand with that thing, friend,” he said quietly.

Trapper grinned at him, but it was strained. “This ol’ thing? It’s just on autopilot. Just ignore it and it’ll go away. It’s the only way it’ll learn.”

Hawkeye ignored the joke, making the decision before he was even fully conscious of having done so. He sank down to his knees and looked up at Trapper.

“If not a hand … then how about a mouth?” he said very quietly, then closed his eyes and waited to get punched in the side of his head.

But the blow never came. So maybe he was free to blow until Trapper came? Hmmm. Hawkeye silently congratulated himself on that bit of filthy wordplay as Trapper muttered his name … making some pretence of protesting, but he didn’t move and didn’t pull away as Hawkeye closed his lips around the head of his cock with a soft moan.

Oh, god. He couldn’t believe he was getting away with this. And wondered what the price tag was going to be. But it felt so good. Hawkeye enjoyed giving head as a rule, but since it was Trapper … it was that much better.

He knew it was a soft spot for his friend. Oral sex was … not something wives routinely performed. Blow jobs were for queers and whores. Fortunately, Hawkeye was six of one and a half-dozen of the other. Even most of the nurses were reluctant to indulge that particular desire. When Trapper paid for women, it was always something he asked for. Hawkeye knew this because Trapper had told him. He’d also seen it on at least one memorable occasion on R&R when they’d had to share a room and brought their respective “dates” back and got down to business one bed apart.

Hawkeye didn’t dare look up. Didn’t want to risk seeing Trapper’s eyes closed, knowing he was thinking about someone else. A nurse, his wife … Marilyn Monroe. Anyone but his male bunkie sucking him off. But then he felt fingers in his hair, grabbing at the scruff of his neck. There were the fewest nerve endings there, so it didn’t hurt. In fact, Hawkeye thrilled as Trapper grunted and began to move a little, not enough to choke, but enough to thrust into Hawkeye’s hot mouth and to direct the action. Hawkeye relaxed and let himself be used. He was getting hard again just from the experience.

It was thrilling and terrifying that over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears, Hawkeye could hear the goings-on outside in the camp. Inside, the only sound was the dripping of water, Trapper’s labored breathing, and the sound of Hawkeye’s mouth getting fucked.

And then Trapper muttered a string of filthy invective and came, his hand falling away, but Hawkeye kept him in his mouth and swallowed everything he was given. Licked him clean. He was a terrible housekeeper, but no one could accuse him of being untidy in the operating room or on his knees.

_Cheque, please. Time to pay the piper._

He risked looking up at Trapper again, who was looking down at him, shaking his head.

“You … you done this before, haven’t ya?” Trapper murmured.

Hawk shrugged, hoping to look nonchalant as he got to his feet. “I’d love to claim I’m a natural, but I may have taken a few correspondence courses.”

The joke deflected off Trapper like a pebble against a brick wall. His jaw clenched and he turned quickly to grab his towel and shrug into his robe. “You shouldn’t’ve done that, Hawk.”

Hawkeye closed his eyes for a moment. _Here it comes_. “Why?” he asked softly, perfectly aware of useless the question was.

“You just shouldn’t have … you know why …” Trapper muttered, storming out of the showers.

Hawkeye sighed and lingered, enjoying the cool spray and rinsing out his mouth. Dawdling to give Trap enough time to get back to the Swamp, get dressed and disappear for a while, as was his habit when he was upset. Especially if he was upset with Hawkeye. Those occasions were rare, but the stakes were higher now.

_This isn’t about using my aftershave or who’s snoring too loud. I performed an intimate act that would get me tossed in jail in most places. I’ve truly outdone myself this time._

A couple of the enlisted men came in to use the showers, so Hawkeye yielded his stall and slipped into his red robe, thankful it was long enough to cover up his reddened knobby knees.

He walked slowly back to the Swamp and when he entered, sure enough, Trapper was not there. Unfortunately, Frank Burns was. He was perched on his cot, reading from his Bible, the book held up so anyone could see what a good widdle boy he was being.

Hawkeye dressed in some reasonably clean fatigues and heaved himself noisily onto his cot, earning him an angry sniff from Frank’s direction. Hawkeye closed his eyes and allowed himself a nice, long, one-way trip to Depressionville, with stops along the way in the hamlet of Self-Loathing and the bedroom community of Regret. The dead kid he’d been trying to keep alive by sheer force of will. Probably alienating the one truly good friend he’d made in this hellhole.

_Maybe if I just let him beat me bloody. Conflict resolution, caveman-style. His masculinity is restored and hey, it was a nice face while I had it._

He flinched when the door slammed open and he heard footsteps, feeling Trapper loom over him.

Hawkeye cautiously opened one eye.

“Where the heck have you been?” Trapper said in mock frustration. “I’ve been running all over camp to find you so you can pour me a damn drink!”

Hawkeye opened the other eye, a slow smile spreading across his face. _An overture. This was not expected. Tricky Trap._

“So … hop to it!” Trapper said, gracing him with a roguish grin before collapsing into the dentist’s chair.

“Sir, yes, sir!” Hawkeye sprang to attention and gave Trapper an exaggerated salute.

“Oh, really now!” Frank huffed, practically rattling his Bible.

Hawkeye poured them two generous martinis, handing one to Trapper. They toasted, looking into each other’s eyes for a moment. Trapper shrugged and smiled before he drank.

_It was what it was. Now we’ll do the manly thing and never talk about it again._

* * *

Things went back to normal over the next few weeks. If periods of shelling and seventeen-hour shifts and a seemingly endless stream of young men ripped to shreds could be called normal.

One night, Hawkeye, rattled beyond comprehension by the shelling, woke up whimpering and shaking. Frank was having a sleepover with Hot Lips, and so Trapper slipped into his cot.

But he didn’t immediately go for Hawkeye’s cock. Instead … he slipped an arm around him and held him.

“It’s okay, Hawk,” he murmured. “I got you. Deep breaths, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Hawkeye grunted, and tried to slow his breathing, focusing on Trapper’s solid warmth behind him. The sheer presence of him.

“That’s good,” Trapper soothed as he heard Hawkeye’s breathing slow and steady over the next few minutes. “You’re all right, Hawk.” He squeezed Hawkeye’s arm. “You want … you wanna hand?”

“Uh-huh.”

Hawkeye closed his eyes and sighed as Trapper slipped his hand into his shorts and began to touch him. He wasn’t aroused, but it wouldn’t take long for him to get there. He wanted the contact. The pleasure and the endorphins for his exhausted, traumatized brain.

Trapper’s breath was hot in his ear, encouraging Hawkeye as his hand moved faster, as Hawkeye leaked and bit the pillow to stifle his moans.

“That’s it Hawk … that’s it … you need it …”

“I need it,” Hawkeye whispered. “Oh, god, Trap …” and then he was coming, biting the pillow so hard he was surprised he didn’t end up with a mouthful of feathers.

Trapper wiped his hand on the fabric covering Hawkeye’s hip. Hawkeye was panting softly, heart racing for the right reasons this time. And the words slipped out before he could think twice. “That day … in the showers … you kissed my neck.”

Trapper was quiet for a moment and then Hawkeye felt him shrug. “I was thirsty!”

Hawkeye bit back a laugh and slowly turned to face Trapper, giving a shrug of his own. “And I was hungry.”

Trapper met his gaze. “Jeez, Hawk …”

“I keep wondering what it is I have to say to get you to punch me in the face.”

“What … you _want_ me to punch you in the face?”

“Not particularly, no. But I just … figured it’s coming to me someday.”

“You’ll be waitin’ a long time. You’re too pretty to punch.”

Hawkeye grinned, actually feeling his cheeks flushing and was grateful for the dark. “You … think I’m pretty? _Pretty_.”

“Yeah, pretty!” Trapper said somewhat defensively. “I didn’t think men could be pretty until I laid eyes on your mug. You … you oughta be out in Hollywood, makin’ pictures. Giving Cary Grant a run for his money.”

Hawkeye kissed Trapper then. Just a brief pressing of lips to lips.

“You try that because I just promised I’d never punch your face?”

“Because you compared me to Cary Grant. Who could snap me over his knee.”

“I’d kill him first.”

“You sweet talker, you.”

“Hawk … you know I ain’t a queer.”

“Of course not? Very strange, yes … queer … never.”

“And I’m still a married man.”

“And I’m a merry man, Robin Hood!”

“Knock it off, Hawk. You get what I’m saying?”

“Calm down, Trap. I’m not asking you to go steady with me. Besides, I left my fraternity pin back in Crabapple Cove.”

“Then what is … all this?”

Hawkeye shrugged. “Something that makes sense in a place that makes no sense. For as long as we want it to make sense. I still like women, Trap. A lot. I’m still never going to stop angling for Hot Lips. And I expect you to keep the nurses on their toes … or on their backs, as you see fit.”

Trapper chuckled and Hawkeye felt his tense posture relax slightly.

“Sometimes I’ll want that … and sometimes I’ll just want … whatever this is. Us. I don’t have to explain anything to you, Trap. I never have. You know what I’m thinking … and you just know what I need, and I hope maybe I’m starting to know what you need, too.”

“Yeah …” Trapper murmured. “I think you do.”

“I’m feeling hungry again.” Hawkeye let his hand drift down, grazing Trapper’s half-hard cock through his shorts.

“Yeah?”

“Famished,” Hawkeye murmured, sliding down and settling for kneeling on the floor because there was simply not enough room to maneuver on the cot.

 _Sorry, knees. And I just finished picking out the splinters from last time_.

He pulled Trapper’s cock out through the fly in his shorts and took him into his mouth. Trapper let out a long sigh, his hand reaching down to stroke over Hawkeye’s silky black hair.

This time, Hawkeye dared to look up. And Trapper was looking down at him.

Hawkeye would have smiled if his mouth wasn’t full, but his blue eyes sparkled with delight.

Trapper smiled, shaking his head. “Shut up, Hawk … just … shut up …”


End file.
